


an ode to a pretty girl

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, just a hint of harry/hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Boys can be fun, Hermione," Her grandmother had said, all knowing and serene, "if you know how to make them fun."
Relationships: Cedric Diggory/Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 252





	an ode to a pretty girl

Hermione remembered looking at old photographs of her grandmother, remembered the feeling of realising that she had lived a whole other life before she had become her grandmother.

"Why are you always with all these boys in your pictures?" Hermione had asked once, pointing to the picture of her grandmother leaning close and whispering into the ear of a man that most certainly wasn't her grandfather.

Her grandmother had laughed, a knowing look in her eyes. "It's because boys are _fun,_ of course."

Hermione's mother had gasped from across the room, half scandalised. Hermione had only been confused, eyebrows scrunching up at the idea that boys could be anything other than cruel, and hurtful, and disgusting.

"But they're _not_ fun! They're mean, they're bullies!" Hermione protested, huffing. _Some_ boys were okay, she knew, but most of them were awful, most of them liked to push her around and belittle her and laugh at her behind her back.

"Boys _can_ be fun, Hermione," Her grandmother had said, all knowing and serene, "if you know how to make them fun."

At this, Hermione frowned, disbelieving. "How do I make them fun then?"

"Boys, you see, have one weakness. Pretty girls." She'd answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hermione rather thought it made a lot of sense. She knew the boys who liked to make fun of her would rarely ever push Susie around, and Susie was _much_ prettier than Hermione. She had never thought to connect those dots together, that they didn't make fun of Susie because they thought she was pretty. But if they didn't laugh and point at Susie, and they _did_ laugh and point at Hermione, that would've meant she was ugly, wouldn't it?

"But... I'm not pretty. What do I do if I'm not pretty?" Hermione asked, voice small, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Her grandmother sighed, fond. "Hermione, dear, you can _learn_ to be pretty."

Hermione had snapped her head up at that, eyes wide. "I can?"

"You can. Just like how you learnt how to add numbers together, you can learn how to be pretty just the same. You just need to put some work in. And then you'll be just as pretty as any other girl."

Hermione blinked slightly at that, nodding. "And then I can make boys fun? I can make them listen to me? And to stop making fun of me?"

Her grandmother had grinned. "All that and more, Hermione."

Hermione had paused for a moment, thinking, before asking a question she had kept in her head for many, many months. "And then _I_ can make _them_ cry?"

Hermione's mother tried to interrupt then, having grown more and more uncomfortable by the conversation as it went on. Hermione's grandmother had merely held up a hand to silence her, looking down at Hermione with a dangerous sort of smirk on her face.

"And then you can make them cry." She promised.

*

When Hermione turned ten, she spent an hour in the bathroom, staring at her own reflection.

She looked at her teeth, and realised that they were too big.

Susie's teeth were normal, small teeth in a straight row.

Hermione's front teeth were big. Big and obvious and _ugly._

And that wouldn't do at all.

Hermione needed to be pretty. She knew that now. So she opened her mouth and stared at the reflection of her teeth in the mirror and wished for them to be smaller.

_I want normal teeth. I want normal teeth. I want normal teeth._

Then, as if she had willed her wish into existence, her teeth had shrunk, right before her very eyes.

Hermione gasped, stumbling back in shock, before she snapped her mouth shut.

For a moment she had figured she'd just imagined it, that it was just her mind playing tricks on her. But when she opened her mouth again, there her teeth were, in a perfect row, in the perfect size.

She'd screamed, and ran all the way downstairs to tell her mother that she'd made her teeth shrink.

She smiled, normal sized teeth in full display, and her mother had been shocked into utter and complete silence.

*

When McGonagall arrived, robes and magic and all, Hermione had grinned in triumph.

_Magic._

It explained a lot of things. All the strange things that would happen around her sometimes. How once, when Susie had tugged on a strand of her hair and said it resembled a bird's nest, all of Susie's hair had ended up falling out the next second.

It explained how she had managed to fix her own teeth simply by wishing it.

 _Oh yes_ , she realised, _magic could do a lot of things for her_.

Hermione's first trip to Diagonalley had been nothing short of amazing. She'd purchased all sorts of books that day, books she needed and books she didn't. One of the books, appropriately titled _'Nifty spells for witches looking to woo her wizard!'_ had earned her a slightly odd look from Professor McGonagall, but thankfully she hadn't pressed on it much.

Hermione had been just a little upset that she wouldn't be allowed to do any magic at home, but studied every spell she thought she would need in the days leading up to her start at Hogwarts.

So, once she was on the train, alone in her compartment, she'd pulled out the book of spells she'd been studying for the past week, and performed her very first spell, a spell to make her hair soft and smooth.

When, ten minutes later, a boy had came into her compartment, took one look at her and started blushing, she laughed in glee.

*

Hogwarts was _big._

She was surrounded by boys, constantly.

Some were nice. Cute, even. And then there were others.

Ron Weasley in particular, who'd done nothing but ridicule her the moment he had found out that she was smarter than him.

She'd helped him, too, and all she had earned for it was his scorn.

Harry Potter was a boy that was much easier to handle. All Hermione had to do was smile and wave and he'd be blushing and stuttering and looking at her half in awe, as if he was amazed anyone would even talk to him, let alone a girl.

When the troll found her that night in the bathroom, she had been hiding in there trying to find a way to make the spell that made her hair smooth permanent.

Then the troll had burst in, knocked the door of the bathroom stall she was in off its hinges, and Hermione had a brief, fleeting thought that she might actually die there before Ron and Harry had come running in.

Once they had successfully taken down the troll (something Hermione had watched with a gaping mouth and disbelieving eyes) she had rushed over to them and hugged them both, tight.

"Thank you for saving me." She'd said, cheeks flushed, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Ron had looked at her then, mouth parted slightly, as if he was really seeing her for the first time.

He never did make fun of her again after that.

*

By the time third year rolled around, Hermione knew she had cemented her place in Hogwarts.

The smart one, sometimes. The know it all. And then, to her delight, the _pretty_ one. The one girl in her year who could compete with the likes of some of the older girls.

Hogwarts was a big place, which meant that there would be lots of pretty girls other than her there. She knew that. She had no problem with that.

But some of the prettier girls had problems with her.

Hermione had stumbled into the Gryffindor common room, near tears.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned, as he guided Hermione to the sofa.

Dean and Neville had raised their heads at her arrival, watching carefully as she sniffled, and tugged at the ends of her hair, which had clearly been singed off somehow.

"They burnt your hair?" Neville asked, frowning.

Hermione nodded mutely, head still bent low.

Dean looked to Harry with confusion. "Who would do that?"

Harry huffed, anger rising on Hermione's behalf. "Some of the older girls have been picking on Hermione relentlessly ever since the year began. I have no idea why, Hermione hasn't even spoken to half of them!"

Dean furrowed his brows at that, still slightly puzzled.

Hermione let a couple tears fall, overwhelmed by the frustration, the anger. She hadn't spent three years making that straightening spell permanent, only for a couple of nasty fifth years to ruin her hair all together, making it utterly useless.

At the sight of Hermione crying, Neville stiffened, not sure how he should handle a crying girl.

"You know what," Dean whispered suddenly, smiling slightly, "I heard that Fred and George were looking for new targets to test some of their inventions on. I think those girls might be perfect for that. What do you say, Hermione?"

Hermione had stilled for a moment, before breaking out into soft, quiet laughter. "I think that might be perfect, Dean."

There had been a collective pause in the boys' breaths when she had begun to laugh. The image of Hermione, eyes bright and mouth smiling despite the tears, had stunned them into silence for a long second.

Hermione had always been pretty, always with a small smile on her face and a knowing glint in her eyes. But in that moment she had been _beautiful_ , pretty in a way they had never seen her before, and she had shaken them like no other girl ever had.

(The next morning, during breakfast, three fifth year Ravenclaws shrieked in horror when they suddenly found their faces covered in boils.

If any of the boys were in doubt of what they did, once they had seen the way Hermione was beaming, they knew that it had been very much worth the possibility of getting caught.)

*

The night of the Yule ball was a night that Hermione could never forget.

She remembered the feeling of descending on that staircase, the look Harry had in his eyes when he first took her in, the way Viktor had swelled with joy at the sight of her when they met at the bottom of the steps.

She had walked into the hall, on Viktor's arm, and had felt the eyes of everybody in the crowd on her.

Fred and George had stood somewhere off to the side, gaping, wondering when they had missed the fact that Hermione had not only grown up, but had grown up _gorgeous._

Ron hadn't seen her properly when she was walking in, but once she was on the dance floor, being spun and twirled around by Viktor, she had caught him watching. There was something bubbling there underneath his gaze, something like anger, something like jealousy, something like longing.

She danced a lot that night, with a seemingly never ending list of boys. Boys she had never met before, boys who usually wouldn't spare her a second glance.

The night had started out perfect, so she supposed it would've only made sense for something to go wrong eventually.

Ron had yelled, hissing accusations at her, at her date. And she knew where those words really came from, she knew what he had really wanted to say. But still she did not let up, she yelled back just as loud, and when he had finally stormed off, dragging Harry along with him, she had felt all the energy of that night come spilling out as she collapsed against the steps.

Her night hadn't ended there, though. Her night had been far from over in fact.

"Granger. You alright?" Cedric asked, dropping down beside her.

Hermione had quickly rubbed at her tears, startled by his sudden appearance. "I'm fine. Why are you here?"

Cedric shrugged, as if he had no idea, but something about the way he looked at her made her think he knew exactly what he was doing.

"I heard you yelling. Weasley too."

She flushed a little at that, embarrassed that he had overheard their argument.

Cedric grinned at her embarrassment, reaching out to tug at a strand of her hair that had come loose from the knot it was tied up in.

"You deserve better." He said, after a moment of silence. "Better than a boy like him."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, sniffing slightly. "I did come with Viktor, or have you forgotten?"

Cedric laughed. "I remember. Though, he's not here right now, is he?"

He shot her this look then, like he was challenging her. Hermione felt nervous, all of a sudden.

"He wanted to turn in early..." She mumbled, wondering once again why Cedric had approached her like this.

Cedric went silent for a long time, Hermione's heart stammering away in the quiet between them, before he finally looked at her again, leaning in close.

"Could I kiss you?" He asked, face serious.

Hermione sucked in a breath, caught off guard.

She said yes though, just a bit later, because she figured Cedric Diggory knew what he was doing, and who better to give her first kiss to than a boy known for his charm and skilled mouth?

*

(In the graveyard, Cedric was there and alive and breathing.

"Kill the spare." Voldemort said.

Cedric had known it was him, recognised it the moment those words settled.

Pettigrew raised his wand, and Cedric had got the hell out of dodge.

He'd ran, pride be damned, Harry be damned (for the moment), not leaving anything to chance.

When he returned later, after he was sure they had forgotten he was ever there, he pulled Harry away and to the cup before anyone else realised what was happening.

They were spat back out in Hogwarts before anyone knew any better, and Cedric had choked, and thrown up a little too during the landing.

Later that night, after everyone had fallen asleep, he had dragged Hermione by her hand into an unused classroom, locked the door behind him and said, "I thought of you, back then. Your eyes, and then your lips, and then your _everything,_ and I thought I couldn't die. Not before I got to kiss you again."

And then he kissed her, _hard._ )

*

Grimmauld place was a blessing and a curse in many ways.

It was a blessing for Hermione, who rather enjoyed seeing so many of her friends outside of school.

It had been a curse for anyone near the twins, for they had just learnt to apparate and spent many of their days at Grimmauld simply popping in and out of places in the house.

It was a curse in many other ways too, of course.

Fred had apparated into the bathroom one day, intending to scare Ron (who he had thought was in the bathroom at the time), only to end up coming face to face with Hermione in her bath towel, dripping wet.

She had opened her mouth to scream, and Fred had popped right back out.

George raised a brow as his twin reappeared in front of him. "Is that Ron I hear screeching?"

Fred shook his head, grinning. "No, no, that would be Hermione. Fresh out the shower. In a towel."

George choked at the description, at the image that had popped into his head as a result.

Before he could say another word, Hermione yelling "Fred Weasley!" had carried upstairs, and Fred had popped away snickering.

Dinner that night was a loud affair, as it always was, the only noticeable difference being that Fred wasn't contributing to the noise at all. Hermione had cornered him eventually, and silenced him with a spell. Then she had explained exactly _why_ she had silenced him, and after hearing her story, no one had been willing to lift the spell off of him, so he had spent the better half of the day gesturing angrily.

George had thought the entire thing hilarious, even though Fred would certainly be angry with him for a while for having left him in that state.

Once dinner was done with and the plates were floating over to the sink, Fred had gotten down on his knees, begging Hermione silently to let him speak again.

Hermione huffed, but did finally remove the silencing spell.

The next few days passed without much incident.

That had been at least, until George had stepped out of the shower one afternoon, turned to the right, and saw Hermione standing right in front of him.

"Boo!" She'd said, and George almost stumbled right back into the shower from surprise.

Hermione looked as if she was about to laugh, but then seemed to realise something last minute, and her expression morphed into something like mortification instead.

George wondered if maybe he should be offended by that.

"You're George..." Hermione mumbled, cheeks pink.

 _Oh,_ George thought, _she had thought he was Fred._

George smirked, stepping closer until he had her backed against the door. "Yes, not Fred I'm afraid. Though I'm told we look quite similar."

"Right. Well. I'm just going to leave then..." She said, though she didn't actually move.

Her gaze had been trained firmly on the ground, but when George didn't say anything more, she hesitantly began to drag her eyes back up, landing not-so-subtly on his chest for a few heartbeats before she finally made it to his eyes.

"Enjoyed the view, have you?" He asked, taking delight in the way she squeaked and blushed and turned her head away.

Hermione refused to look at him, eyes trained hard on the tiled wall. "I really should go now."

George laughed, pressing in even closer. "You came here thinking of giving Fred a taste of his own medicine, didn't you? Though I'm not him, I'm sure we could still work something out."

Hermione twitched a little at that, finally taking a breath and turning to look George in the eye. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

George grinned, wide and just a little bit dangerous. "Freddie, you see, loves to be first. Hates when I go and discover something without him, before him. He was bragging to me before, about having seen you in your towel, so smug. How do you think he would feel if he knew that even though he had been the one to catch you like that, that I'd be the one to kiss you first, touch you first?"

Hermione didn't say a thing to that. She had, however, curled her hand around his shoulder and pulled him down so that their lips could meet.

He laughed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist as she wound hers around his neck.

(The next morning, when Hermione had walked into the room with her hair up, the hickey on her throat in full display, Fred had choked on his breakfast.

George had merely given his twin with a shit eating grin before returning to buttering his toast.)

*

("We can continue this," She'd said, right after she'd given him the best kiss of his life, "when you make it out of there alive."

Fred had sucked in a breath, the timing of his heart going haywire, his thoughts a mess. "It's a promise then."

Hermione shot him a look that said _don't die or else,_ and then left.

Fred Weasley was not usually a man of integrity, but he'd never once broken a promise.)

*

When it all ends, _actually_ ends, Hermione is the least pretty she's been in years.

Her hair's a mess (permanent straightening spell or not), her clothes are torn, she's covered in blood (both hers and not), her face is cut up and bruised.

Yet still, when Voldemort breathes his last breath and the entire world heaves a collective sigh of relief, Harry turns and looks at her as if she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen.

"You did it." Hermione whispers, scared if she speaks too loud the moment will fade away.

Harry takes her hand in his and squeezes, hard. "We did. Together."

Ron looks between the both of them, questioning, curious.

Hermione pretends she does not see the way his eyes linger on their intertwined hands.

"I guess congratulations are in order?" Fred cuts in, grinning, despite the blood all over the front of his shirt.

George scoffs, huffing as he struggles to hold Fred up. "Yes, yes, congratulations on defeating what's his name and saving everybody from impending doom. Impressive for a seventeen year old, I suppose."

Harry laughs, feeling lighter than he's ever been. "Glad you two made it out mostly in one piece."

Fred whispers something into George's ear. George nods, chuckling, as he brings Fred over to Hermione.

"Fred, what are you-" Before Hermione can finish her sentence, Fred's hand slithers its way down her back to her rear and she yelps at the sudden contact.

George laughs as Hermione sputters, spinning around to hit Fred in the shoulder.

Ron's mouth drops open. Nobody notices.

"Celebrating already?" A new voice asks, before Ron can say anything.

Hermione turns, and smiles as she watches Cedric approach.

Harry is standing to Hermione's left, their hands still entwined. Fred limps over to make space for Cedric, who comes up on Hermione's right side, snaking a hand around her waist as he does so.

"War's over, haven't you heard?" Harry quips, grinning.

Cedric laughs, shoulders shaking. "Guess that _would_ be reason to celebrate."

The group chats, and laughs, and lets go for the first time in years.

Ron looks on, at Harry and Hermione's connected hands, at Cedric's arm around Hermione's waist, at Hermione's other hand that reaches behind Cedric to insert itself into the back pocket of George's jeans.

And, _bloody hell, had Hermione ever been his?_

He thinks back to first year, to the troll, and wonders why he had thought that moment in the bathroom meant that she was his. But that's what he had thought, that's what he had thought right through till sixth year, right until now.

He had thought this would be it, this moment right after the fight. He had thought they would look at each other, she would realise she loved him, that they could've lost each other in the battle, and then she would kiss him.

Hermione had always taught him never to assume, never to guess aimlessly. He supposes he really should've listened to her more.

("And then _I_ can make _them_ cry?")

His eyes burn. And those aren't tears. Those aren't. But the edges of his vision blurs just the same, and Hermione looks at him like she knows.

"I'll go see Mum, I'll be back." Ron chokes out, before practically turning and fleeing.

Hermione watches him as he goes, watches him raise a hand to brush away a stray tear.

She thinks about first year, about how he had made her cry, how he had made her doubt herself for a moment. She wonders if he feels that now, if he knows, she wonders if he realises this was why. This was why she had never chosen him, this is why it was never going to be him.

("And then _you_ can make them cry.")

Hermione's grandmother had been right. Boys _were_ fun.

**Author's Note:**

> i call this concept: hermione gets gorgeous and saves lives in the process.


End file.
